It is an indescribable setting of a life.
To feel the cool, beginning of each day
rise over your blankets,
stirring the hushed quiet in your bedroom
as your eyelids flutter open
to let clear puddles of shimmering brown,
bathe in the golden tendrils of light
that softly soak into your sleepy, warm skin.
The air is calm, sprinkled with peach colored contentment
and the creamy jade of a flowing solitude,
where, looking clearly, one could decipher
the hidden soft meanings
behind every single swirling, silver moment
that are lost to the confines of a time glass setting and resetting.
To each day, the calendar beckons for the
soft marking of your black felt pen
when you carefully print your signatures of life
in neat, little, swirls that become decorations and memories
of a single person's existence,
a drawn tale and illustration of the warmth flowing
in your body like a river,
and of the steady beat of your loving, irreplaceable heart.
Your footsteps resound through these roots
of the earth, where you tread upon
cracked concrete roads, newly paved pathways,
woven blankets of green grass,
and the worn, familiar brown forest path
that guides you to your little, hidden creek.
Your hands trace the spines of worn paperbacks,
and coax the stiffness out of newly presented books
as you grace them with your open mind,
maybe to one day create your own to generously share
with the world,
one or two of your free, limitless thoughts,
and a piece of yourself.

too close
too far away from what will be

I cannot say for sure
for flowers never faded where
no foot has trod

And deep beneath the waves
are a million different spectrums of a flying color's
Dream

Bound up in my heart I feel it stirring
whirring
flipped out before the hindsight of a thousand years
And yes, I think, he knows what's best

For us
for you and me

Green hills never died for lack of laughing but our hearts aren't grass and smiles are a dime a dozen
at all the places no one ever goes

Joy is free.
Unless you want to say contentment
is a tax

But then again, why not

In this society,
you cannot be at peace with who you are.
You must always find something wrong
with your biological makeup
and every choice that has shaped your personality.

They say, "love yourself,"
yet shame and call those who do narcissists.
Well,
I chose to separate myself from this hypocrisy.

I am beautiful,
I am clever,
I am funny,
I am not perfect,
I am me.

I chose to accept all of it;
the ups and the downs,
my vices and virtues,
every single experience I have in life
that will help me grow
into who I am becoming.

**** society,
**** the media,
and *******.

The winter miracle of having enough settled with a smile next to the ample blessing of sufficiency and the happy gift of needs met. They chatted contentedly under their tailored shelter as they watched the prize of satisfaction coming up to meet them, bringing with her the familiar rumour of future plenty.
Oh, how they laughed.

It’s that time of year
when the air is unseasonably warm,
summer’s last push,
last bounce
on the trampoline,
before the street lights
come on
and her mother
tells her it’s time
to come inside.  

I tilt my head
and lean it back,
closing my eyes,
allowing the mixed smell
of tide water
and seat leather
to drive me elsewhere,
back to the river streets
and cobblestone houses
of South Georgia
where my journey began.

The warm night air
fills my lungs
with longing
and nostalgia
more than smoke,
and for a split second,
I’m there:

With the crickets singing,
and the salty spray of the ocean
from the thunderbolt islands
filling my empty places,
in ways
that no other person
ever could.

And I don’t feel
brave
or powerful,
or even beautiful,
I just feel
in control,
and that’s
enough for
me.


There is no wishing,
no hoping,
no dreaming
for a better tomorrow.

Just the contentment
of not knowing
which direction I face,
but the
understanding
that I am going
somewhere.

Muffled
Silent
Quiet as a funeral
But there is a beauty in the silence
To drift away with the cold winter air
I could stay out here forever
To join the silence of the snow
The peace is new
And sadly never permanent